This was all that was stitched, at the end of that first day, a week ago.
Home now, arrived last night, drank a bottle of wine and went to bed for ten hours.
Notes from the first day... "There are no words, twilight zone, home, crazy, comfortable, awful, unbelievable, rabbit hole. You can't make this shit up."
It was hard. Too many days. Too many people. Too many memories. Too, too much... and not enough.
There was crying while standing over his washing machine, setting out chairs at the community club for the gathering, in the street, talking to a guy from high school (who I barely knew forty years ago), in front of my mom...
And then there was the first moment when all four of us were in his house together, when all three of them were crying, hugging, and I just watched without any tears at all.
Last night, arriving back in Seattle, the water and buildings of downtown to the left, taking the exit off towards my neighborhood to the right... Surprised by the sound of the breath I took in, so deep that the coolness of it filled me. Loud and sharp, as if I'd come up from the bottom of the ocean... and the long slow release of it.
There is a lot to process, sort out, and self to get back together. Going to let it rest for a while, and just be for a bit.
And there is a dead cat in our basement freezer (not Twinkle). You really can't make this shit up.
